Monah Do Dovah
by NeyshaMariie
Summary: Dragons have dwelled to the skies of Skyrim and bring chaos. A young woman is revealed to be Dragonborn and with help of a headstrong Nord, fight against them. When a shocking secret is revealed, the Stormcloak and Imperial are forced to unite Skyrim against the true enemy: The Thalmor. It's up to one to prevent domination and the end of times: Monah Do Dovah, Mother of Dragons.


**Preface: Death by Beheading **

Tired eyes slowly fluttered open when a violent thrash rocked the women's body against the wood behind her. An ache grew quickly afterward from the back of her head and the attempt to soothe away the pain was quickly stopped by iron shackles that kept her wrist tightly bound to each other. Panic grasped the pitch of her stomach, after she had quickly looked at her surroundings for answers. She was not alone. Three Nords accompanied her, all of them shackled as well, sulking in the seats of the wooden carriage. One particular Nord catched the woman's attention; the man sitting next to her was not wearing the torn, sack clothing the other two were, instead he was wearing fine clothing, adorned with jewels and fur. He had dirty blond hair up to his shoulders, which seemed neatly trimmed and well taken care of. Two small braids fell from each side on his face as he stared at the floor, quiet and somewhat peaceful. Just as his hands were bound, so was his voice. A rag was tied on his mouth, inhibiting any speech from the large man.

She envied him for a moment. While he enjoyed warm, dry layers of clothing and fur, the woman could feel the icy winds nipping on her skin. Looking down upon herself she could also see that she was wearing the same poor excuse for clothing as the other men in front of her were. However, a shining amulet hung from her chest. It was a gold necklace, encrusted with blue jewels. She lifted her shackled hands towards the long jewelry and examined it. A circular blue and gold pendant rested in her dirty hands. Twisting it around, she saw the name '_**Nyla**_' engraved in calligraphy writing. As beautiful as the necklace was, she had no memory of the name or of the necklace… at all.

In fact, she had no memory of how she had gotten captured either. She tried to think back on anything that might make her remember how she got, wherever she was, in the first place but nothing came to her mind, she couldn't even remember her name. The woman had no past memory of anything other than waking up, captured and bound in the middle of a road in between snow covered mountains.

"You finally woke up." The man in front of her spoke, rather indifferently. He looked at her for a moment before looking away into the mountain behind her. "You were trying to cross the border too, weren't you? I didn't expect there to be an Imperial ambush. I doubt you did as well." His eyes shifted back towards her. "Or that thief." With a nudge of his head he pointed at the jittery man beside him. The woman was more than confused. Crossing the border? The border to where?

"You Stormcloaks ruin everything! Everything was nice and quiet until you came along!" The thief bitterly answered, his voice was broken and scared. The woman knew little of what they were speaking, but she was also frightened and decided not to speak. "If it weren't for you I'd be halfway through Hammerfell by now!" he added. The woman looked away from the thief; she wanted nothing to do with whatever squabble he had with the so proclaimed Stormcloaks. "Hey, hey, you—" The thief called out for the woman, who confusedly looked back at him. "You and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

"Were brothers and sisters in binds now." The nord softly added.

With a swing of a whip to the air, the man guiding the carriage on his horse turned to face them. "Quiet over there!" He yelled.

The nord, however, was not impressed. "Watch your tongue! It is the Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King that you are speaking too!"

Whatever it was that the Nord was saying, it indeed sounded like he was truly important. Lest, it only took a momentarily gasp from the thief to quickly realize that the nord wasn't speaking about himself but about the dirty blond beside her. Switching her eyes towards Ulfric, she had to suppress a gasp when he saw his intimidating dark blue eyes staring back; her gaze fell almost quickly to the ground. The _true_ High King? Who was that man?

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" The thief spat at Ulfric in awe. His awe-struck face quickly turned into fear. "Wait—no but if they've captured you then, where are they taking us?" He frantically asked the nord, who shook his head in return.

"I do not know, but Sovngard awaits." Was the Nord's simple response.

The woman felt her throat dry up. She knew little about herself, but she knew fine and well what Sovngard meant for Nords. Her heart started to race quicker and quicker, tears pooled on the creases of her eyes. She was frightened. Whatever had she done to be in the same wagon as thieves and rebels?

"No, this isn't happening! This can't be happening!" The thief said, sweating in fear.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting." A High Elf in imperial armor spoke as the carriage started to slowly make its way inside of an unfamiliar village.

"Good. Let's get this over with." A man, whom she could safely assume was General Tullius, quietly replied.

Meanwhile, a quiet Nord slowly made his way through Helgen and it's now occupied gates. Mikael had just returned from clearing a cave of Silverhand bandits who the Companions had deemed as a threat to their circle. He was soaked from head to toe after washing off the blood from battle in a nearby river. He was cold, sore and tired but the man refused to take rest at an Inn. He was stubborn that way. The sooner he got to Whiterun the sooner he could put this whole mess behind him.

There was, however, a quick change of plans when he heard the southern gates slam shut not too far behind him. A sentencing was going to be held there and by the looks of the guillotine and the executioner standing by the southern tower it wasn't going to be a pretty one. A scoff escaped through the dry lips of the tired nord. He was more than eager to leave town but it seems as if whatever it was that was taking place was just starting. Mikael slumped down on the edge of one of the houses right after he sunk his ebony blade into the ground. He sighed in relief as he felt his back and limbs start to relax after a long day of travel and battle.

Back in the wagon, the bound nord kept talking about some girl he used to be sweet on from a place called Helgen but the woman paid little attention to his words. She was petrified. She had no idea what was going on and why. The wagon finally slowed to a stop. There were people outside of their homes, staring at the block.

"W-Were stopping? Why are we stopping?" The thief said, with a stutter.

"The end of the line." The nord replied.

Ulfric was the first one out of the back of the wagon, then the thief, the nord and finally the woman. She was more than petrified and as soon as she saw the guillotine the pooling tears spilled. She felt her eyes swell and her temperature rise. She remembered nothing of her past life and it would be a true shame if her last memory would be of her execution.

"Approach the block when your name is called, one at a time." The bitter High Elf from before said.

Another man, with a list in his hand, spoke. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

The instant the man spoke his name; the crowd around the southern tower seemed to gasp. Mikael sprung up to his aching feet in surprise. He stared in disbelief as none other than Ulfric Stormcloak walked slowly towards the block. General Tullius' eyes gazing upon him. Mikael fell back and leaned against the stone wall in disbelief.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" The nord beside the woman yelled.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The same nord, now known as Ralof, made his prideful way up the block and next to Ulfric.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"You'll never catch me!" Lokir, the thief, pushing through the imperials and sprinting his way towards the gate. The woman closed her eyes, what was about to happen was near inevitable.

"Archers!" The high elf yelled and not even a second later, Lokir lay on the floor with and arrow through the back his head.

"You there, what's your name?" The man with the list asked.

The woman jumped as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her name? She didn't even know whom she was! "I-I don't—"

"Your **name** imperial!" The high elf added, making the woman jump once more.

"Nyla!" The woman squealed, remembering the name engraved on the amulet. She didn't know if it was hers or not but she knew that if she didn't answer _something _the elf would explode.

"Her name is not on the list." The man said with an apologetic look on his face.

The high elf scoffed while she approached Nyla and whispered "Seems like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.". Her eyes trickled down Nyla's neck and instantly a neatly trimmed eyebrow lifted to its apex. Her cold hand lifted towards the pendant of the sobbing imperial as she examined it carefully. She seemed to have noticed something important about it because her expression quickly turned to one of shock and even fear. Not even a second later, she yanked it off of her, breaking the metal chain, burning the back of Nyla's neck and earning a yelp from the young girl. The elf grasped it firmly and flung it away in the direction of one of the houses. "Approach the block!" She yelled, Nyla reluctantly and timidly walked towards the bloody block, her face damp with tears.

The pendant flew in the air and ended up square in between Mikael's feet. He kneeled over and examined the jewel encrusted necklace, flipping it over to reveal the engraved name. "_Nyla_" he read out, whispering to himself. He had been closely watching the scene unfold before him. There was something odd about the crying woman, the elf seemed really bothered by her. He could tell the necklace was worth more than a couple of hundred gold pieces. Why would a woman who could afford _this _be mixed up with thieves and rebels? His head lifted up back to the block. Nyla had knelt down next the executioner her neck struck out while her long brown hair blew toward her, blocking her savagely crying face.

"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and its people." The executioner lifted his axe while the general spoke. "I, general Tullius, sentence you to death by beheading."


End file.
